


Desparetly Divine

by QuantumStates



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Multi, will add more tags as i flesh out the story more
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 11:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15218258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuantumStates/pseuds/QuantumStates
Summary: We all start somewhere. But where do we end?(A Destiny Original Story)





	1. Reboot


      
    
    > REBOOTING… 9%
    > REBOOTING… 44%
    > REBOOTING… 72%
    > REBOOTING… DONE
    .
    .
    .
    > CHKENVIRONMENT
    .
    .
    .
       [sample conditions]
              {air quality: good}
              {ground quality: firm}
              {location: 48.0252° N, 12.5553° E}
              {temperature: 23°C}
              {life signs in radius: minimal}
    
    > CHKSELF
    .
    .
       [physical status]
              {synaptic function: optimal}
              {notable damage: none}
              {optic function: optimal}
              {shell integrity: 87%}
              {padding integrity: 92%}
              {internal temperature: 29.4 C (FLAG ANOMALOUS)}
    
    
    ADMINQUERY: Safe to execute?
    .
    .
    .
    .
    .
    > Y
    .
    .
    .
    > BEGIN BOOTSTRAP: TYPE-ANTISOMNIC SUBROUTINES -- 
           
    

“Guardian? Guardian! What is your name?” A shrill, metallic voice shouted.  
  
Cyan light shone from in-between the leaves, a signal that a program had finished running. With a mechanical creak, a body sat up, out of the foliage.  
  
“Guardian, can you hear me? What is your name?”  
  
The being looked around, the midday Sun shining down on blue metal. Optics looked around the landscape, surveying the environment. Finally, they were directed towards the voice.  
  
“Guardian…?” The ghost asked, moving closer to the being’s face. With a rasping, metallic voice quieter than the breeze, the being finally spoke.  
  
  
“Where am I?”  
  
  
“Guardian, this is the European Dead Zone, on the planet Earth. Guardian… do you remember your name?”  
  
The being looked out, past the horizon. Instinctively, he took one of his tattered, old gloves off and looked down at the back of his hand. Near his metallic, silver knuckles, an inscription read “TR4V15-5.” Without saying a word, the Exo held his hand up, near the paint splatter on his face. The Ghost’s only eye looked over the inscription before the glove was put back on.  
  
"So, Travis-5 is your name?”  
  
All that was given in return was a nod.  
  
“Well, Travis, you’re a Guardian now. Your duty is to protect the Light from the Darkness and use it to help others. But for now, we’ve got to get a move on, it’s not safe here. Come on, follow me.” The ghost rattled off at a blistering speed.  
  
The Exo stood, wrapped in the clothing of a farm boy. The ends of his fraying, linen pants falling far above his ankles. A burlap satchel was hung across his chest, with little pockets for tools, hand shovels and other knick knacks. However, all the pockets seemed to be empty, looted by now. His chest, arms, and back were only covered by his exoskeleton and black, skin-like material made of silicone. He had worn, greyish boots on, half-tied.

 

Travis looked out over the area, which seemed to be an abandoned farm. It stank of death, rotting fruits and withering grains still rooted in the dry soil had not yet been disposed of. In the distance, a small ranch house and barn stood. Both were incredibly old, the roof of the barn caving in, vines creeping up the sides of both. The Ghost continued yammering on about how it was time to go, how it wasn't safe here. Travis pretended he didn't hear his new companion. With weak steps, he made his way from the bushes that concealed his body. Behind him was the sunset, which casted a warm yellow glow onto the fields.

 

Travis turned to his Ghost.  
  
"Do I know this place?" He asked with concern, his blue optics meeting the Ghost's singular eye.  
  
"I wouldn't know, now-"  
  
"Who am I?"  
  
"You're a Guardian, Travis! You have a duty-"  
  
  
  
"No. _Who_ am I?"  
  
  
  
A silence fell over the two machines, a somber and uncomfortable one. The Ghost looked down before meeting Travis' confused and frightened gaze.  
  
"I can't tell you. I'm sorry Travis, no Guardian can remember their past life. Not without certain practices and experience which you don't have. You're starting anew, one of the Traveler's chosen, but I can't tell you more unless you come with me," The Ghost replied with a flat tone in his synthesizer. Travis looked away and nodded a few times. In shifting his gaze, he noticed a pitchfork hidden by the overgrown vines and bushes and a wheat sickle beside it. He slipped the sickle into his sash and held the pitchfork as if it were a staff of some sort.  
  
"Lead the way," Travis began. "Where are we going?"  
  
The Ghost moved forward, to the east.  
  
"The Last City," He directed, his simple, white shell pulsating as he spoke. "You'll be safe there. There are other Guardians there. C'mon, then. Let's get going."  
  
Travis wandered through the field mindlessly, simply following the directions of his Ghost. It was much larger than it originally appeared, the barn and homestead slowly growing in size. The Exo trudged along, not speaking in the slightest. The setting Sun shone upon his blue exoskeleton, highlighting his teal horns and the white paint splatter over one of his optics. Every so often, he would pull out his rusted sickle and clear some tipped-over wheat from the path. Eventually, the Sun dipped below the horizon behind the mechanical duo, when they reached the house.  
  
"Abandoned," The Ghost exclaimed as Travis creaked open the wooden door, with paint chipping and glass broken. Travis jiggled the handle, and when the door wouldn't open, kicked it down. The Ghost brightened its single eye, turning into a beacon as they entered.  
  
"We...we aren't safe here..."  
  
Streaks and splatters of dark blood decorated the rotting walls, and three bodies lay on the ground, two from a man and a woman, one from a young child. They hadn't been dead long, it seemed, as maggots were still swarming around. Mold from the corpses released a dense wall of stench. Skin was peeling away and decay painted the bodies a grotesque, red-brown color. Travis' optics widened, and if he could throw up at that very moment, he would. He stumbled outside the house a disoriented gait and collapsed near a wall, slamming the door shut.  
  
"Whatever killed them will probably kill us too, Travis. We need to move." The Ghost pressed. The Exo simply nodded in reply and queasily stood. He moved away from the house, firmly grasping his pitchfork. If he had human skin, his knuckles would be white.  
  
"What happened to them?" Travis asked, afraid. His synthetic voice quivered with fear and sadness.  
  
"Fallen. I'll explain later, we need to-"  
  
Guttural, plosive vocalization began to sound from the opposite side of the house. The Ghost moved quickly, directing Travis away from the threat. He then spoke quietly.  
  
"The Fallen, the creatures you just heard, are what killed them. Although they can't kill you, not completely at least, I don't want to have to rez you before we reach the Tower. Do you know how to fight?" The Ghost said quickly, quietly. The crunching of leaves indicated the approach of the alien creatures. Travis nodded slowly, carefully, gripping his pitchfork with fervor.  
  
"Go get 'em."  
  
Within seconds, a the pitchfork puncuntrued the chest of one of the Fallen. The being screeched horrendously as it died, collapsing onto the dry ground. Without thinking, Travis turned to face the second Fallen, who was hissing and spitting curses at the Guardian in their native tongue. In one swipe, the blade of a sickle cut cleanly through the Fallen’s neck, spraying an equivalent of blood across Travis' face. He took a deep breath, shaking from adrenaline and shock.  
  
"Ikora will love seeing this. One of her Kinderguardians, already covered in blood..." The Ghost muttered disdainfully. Travis put away his sickle picked up one of the arc spears from the one of the Fallen he had killed. His Ghost turned to him. "Let's really get moving, alright?"  
  
One last look was given to those creatures, lying sprawled on the ground. Travis didn't even pity them. He could sense a malice still within their husks and that was all that mattered to him. That quick, uncaring gaze had set Travis' mentality in stone. His cold vision did not dissipate when he turned to his Ghost again, almost as if he wanted the Ghost to ask what was wrong, why he had such an odd expression upon his face. Travis pretended he didn't hear his Ghost the first time he asked.  
  
"Why'd you look back at those Fallen?"  
  
Travis grunted. He really was a man of few words, hoping he wouldn't have to continue further with this conversation.  
  
"Travis-"  
  
The gaze that was set upon the Ghost was not angry, it was not frustrated. It was cool, understanding, curious to an extent.  
  
"Those creatures...the Fallen, if you will, they're evil, aren't they?"  
  
"I wouldn't say evil, but..."  
  
"Enemies?"  
  
The Ghost shook his case. The Sun had long set by now, leaving Travis and the little machine under silvery moonlight.  
  
"There's something more to them. The Fallen aren't black-and-white. The Cabal are ruthless, war-hungry, and cruel. The Vex desire total domination of reality itself. The Hive serve the Darkness as we serve the Light and the Taken? Vessels for the Darkness, ripped from our reality and grotesquely shoved back in. The Fallen were...like us at one point. They too held the Light, but since them, they have become lost, and the Traveler left them. They are doing what is sensible to them, trying to take back what is once theirs. Even with that, not all Fallen are against us. I have heard stories of Fallen serving the Queen of the Reef, even Fallen sparing Guardians that spared them. You can never tell what's running through a Fallen's head."  
  
Travis let that sink in with a nod. He would keep note of the Fallen, but show them no mercy. His first impression of them taught him that.

* * *

Weeks Later

* * *

The journey across the seemingly flat, featureless body of water seemed to last a lifetime. The only thing Travis had to look forward to was the mountain in the distance and the forests surrounding it. However, something new arose from the horizon this day. A hilled wood was drawing closer, with tall pine trees reaching their branches up, up, upward, like arrows shot to the sky. Travis' optics glowed with enthusiasm, and if he were able to, he would be smiling from ear to ear.  
  
He was better equipped now, as he had been able to pick up a small pistol and a along his way. However, his outfit of simple, linen pants and burlap sash had not been added to, apart from a leather belt he hung his gun, knife, and sickle on. He still was using the arc spear he had picked up as a walking stick of sorts. It was surprising to Travis how enemy technology benefited him and how much it hurt the enemy when it was in his hands.  
  
"Watch your 9," His Ghost commented. "3 Vandals, 2 Dregs closing in. I can't decipher what they're saying, but it's not anything nice, I can assure you."  
  
Travis continued to walk, pretending he couldn't see nor hear the Fallen, their claws slashing in the water. Once they had gotten in range, Travis began his strike.  
  
He thrust his arc spear through the chest of one of the Vandal. The other Fallen let out startled hisses and jumped back. While ripping his weapon from the carcass, Travis fired two shots at the Dregs, killing one and immobilizing the other. One of the Vandal made a slash at Travis' waist, which was quickly dodged and returned with a swipe with the spear into the Vandal's shoulder, causing it to drop its weapon in that hand and give off an insect-like screech. The spear had made a reasonably sized incision in this Fallen's exoskeleton and armor, but it had not gotten stuck, allowing Travis then to turn around and slice at the immobile Dreg, beheading it. He had put away his pistol and was now using his sickle (cleaned and sharpened at this point) to finish the job. However, before he could get to the last Vandal, the Fallen lunged and struck Travis in his side, just barely missing major wiring. Without hesitation, Travis' hand collected into a fist. He jabbed the Vandal's helmet. Hard. Time slowed as a purple flame engulfed Travis’ knuckles, fizzing as he struck. He moved back, prepared to be attacked further by the creature. But, something peculiar happened instead. The Fallen withered away into burning, purple embers. Travis’ optics widened and he froze, in shock.  
  
"You're a Voidwalker! I knew it!" The Ghost exclaimed with an quick, excited passion. Travis was still very much confused. He looked down at his hand, which displayed no abnormalities or damage. Just some purple flecks of light dissipating from his palm remembered what had just happened. Some part of him that was inexplicably empty now felt at least partially filled. The Exo felt more powerful than he ever had before.

  
"What was that?" Travis almost yelped, terrified. He held onto his wrist, as though some deep injury had inflicted his hand. He anxiously motioned for his Ghost to check his hand, his optics flashing with fear.  
  
"That was your Light! It’s the gift the Traveler gave you to be a Guardian. It appears to be that you harness Void light, which was what vaporized that Fallen there," The Ghost explained, his words flowing in quick strings from his synthesizer.  
  
Travis nodded, still perplexed by what had just happened. He turned towards the trees in the distance and the same thought that had been coursing through his mind throughout this entire journey entered his mind.  
  
Onwards.  
  
The Ghost, named "Brontes" at this point, was used to Travis advancing without a word of warning. Travis proceeded towards the forest ahead, now lightly jogging. The water from under his feet splashed and rippled as his feet made contact, spraying droplets onto his legs, and pants. He still held the sickle in his hands and had put away the spear, but his guard was down. He was only yards from the shore when-  
  
"Get down, Guardian!"  
  
A whizzing machine zoomed by as Travis dropped to the ground, covering his neck and head with his hands and sickle. The machine whirred loudly, kicking up sprays of water. Gunshots sounded from all directions, Fallen and human-made alike. Travis couldn't see past the mist that had been created, but he could hear the devilish screams erupting from beyond his vision. Shots, which seemed to be of Fallen origin, burst through the mist, just narrowly missing Travis. He could barely register what was going and could feel Brontes nestled between his arm and the ground, giving off a strange electrical hum. Carefully, Travis sheathed his sickle in favor of the pistol, and ever so slowly, turned himself around. Even so, the action was happening too fast. His optics, shining with fear, could barely track the movements of the whizzing machine, which was driving in circles between Travis and the enemy. An inhuman scream sounded and suddenly, Travis found himself face-to-face with a Captain. The Fallen tried to take a slice out of the Exo with arm-mounted blades, just barely missing Travis' side. The Kinderguardian attempted to scramble up, but ended up slipping on the water-covered ground, bashing his head against smoothed-out rocks. As Travis fumbled with his firearm, the Fallen was taking aim. Travis shielded his face, not feeling too keen about this Fallen being the last thing he'd see in this life. The creature let out another otherworldly screech before...  
  
_Crish!_

  
The mechanical mount knocked away the being once more, and the shot that would have killed Travis had just missed him, landing in the space between his head and elbow. The Exo wheezed a sigh of relief and clutched his chest with his free hand.  
  
"Don't let your guard down!" Brontes shouted, his voice tiny above all noise. "That Captain might burst through again any minute!"

  
Travis heard the shot that sealed the Captain's fate. It seemed to echo across the watery plains, through the forest, up into the mountains. The Captain let out a death-cry, the last breath it would take before it passed from this world. The whizzing machine came to a halt, and the Guardian atop it dismounted. He had a bulky form, one made up of heavy armor and strength. He put away his gun and offered Travis a gloved hand, which the Exo thankfully took.  
Travis stood face-to-face with the Guardian. He was tall, matching Travis' impressive 6-foot-5 stature. He was definitely beefier than the Exo, and his posture was broken from years of fighting in war after war after war. Travis was clearly in awe.  
  
"I apologize for my Guardian," Brontes interjected, "He's new, and doesn't speak all to much." The Guardian nodded.  
  
"A Kinderguardian, aye? Well, I'm Valiant Andris, veteran Titan. I don't assume you've visited home yet, by the looks of you," The Guardian spoke, his voice low, rumbling, and rough, like that of an old, war-torn soldier. He swayed slightly as he spoke, his hands crossed loosely over his chest. Travis shook his head.  
  
"Well, would you like a ride home? I'm supposed 'ta be doin' my patrols at the moment, but I'm sure Cayde won't mind me bringin' a Kinderguardian back first. Does that sound alright, eh..."

Travis did not speak, and instead nodded, softly and nervously. The Titan tilted his head.

"What's your name, friend?"

The Exo looked up with careful, but steady eyes. They were blue, like the sky.

"Travis-5," he said. "Travis."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of many, many chapter!! Updates will be pretty "everywhere" until I get a more set schedule overall. If you want a lil oneshot, head on over to my tumblr (https://quantum-states.tumblr.com/ or https://quantum-realm.tumblr.com/)


	2. Snow

Softly, the wind rolled over the hills, through the open windows of cars and debris. The sun was drealily hanging high in the sky, poking a hole through space to bring light to the Earth. This scene came by day-after-day, and yet, the remains could not be found.

 

A small machine, a Ghost, zipped through the area. They had not been searching for their guardian for long, not as long as many other Ghosts.They were lucky, they thought, to feel the presence of their guardian so early on in their journey. The little creature remained on-edge, prepared for any attack that could come to them. They were in Fallen territory, after all. They did not want to be struck down by the same hands that, presumably, killed their guardian.

 

They came upon what seemed to be a small encampment set up in a small clearing of rusted cars. The tents, although torn and battered by the weather, were still intact. Boxes of equipment, used and reused, were covered in dirt and dust and cobwebs, but were otherwise untouched. Blood was splattered, now just crumbling red dust, on the cars. Death had happened here.

 

This is where the Guardian would be.

 

The Ghost began to frantically look about. This was it, their end of their beginning. They needed to do this right.

 

It was hard to tell which was one the guardian, really. There were the skeletons of humans...or were they awoken? The Ghost couldn’t tell. There even was the shell of an Exo, whos mental circuitry had been shot through, blown out. Plant life had crept through any opening it could find, sprouting from even the optics of the deceased machine. _From death, comes life_ , the Ghost had heard some wayward soul say.

 

Out of the rubble, the Ghost saw the one. The skeletal frame was curled into a loose ball, a pistol still barely clutched in the being’s hands. It made the Ghost sad, knowing that this Guardian died fighting. They knew that this Guardian would just be shoved into the merciless cycle once again. They shook in their shell and allowed their Light to fill the husk of this Guardian once again.

 

A gasp pierced the air and the Ghost was nearly knocked out of the air.

 

The Guardian, who had shifting, blue skin and a mohawk of green hair had thrown a punch at the Ghost. Her icy, snow-blue eyes clung onto the form of the Ghost. Even though her clothes, a black and brown leather uniform, had been constricted by vines and dirt. Her full strength still broke through

 

She was a fighter.

 

“Who are you?” She spat quickly, a snarl pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Why am I here?”

 

“Hey, just calm down a bit, alright, Guardian? Please, just-” The Ghost was cut off.

 

“You didn’t answer my question!” The Guardian hissed. She, instinctively, gripped the pistol and held it towards the Ghost. “I’m not playing around.”

 

“You’ve only got blanks in there, Guardian,” The Ghost replied calmly, moving away from the barrel of the gun. “I’m your Ghost. I’m here to assist you in your fight against the Darkness. You’re here because you’re dead. Er, you were dead. I gave you Light from the Traveler so that you could have life again to fight the Darkness.”

 

“I...I _died_?” The Guardian breathed, dropping the pistol onto the ground. Suddenly, she crumpled to the dirt, her hands on the sides of her head. The Guardian’s glowing, silver eyes looked about, as if she was searching for something she had once lost.

 

“Why can’t I remember anything?” She stammered, desperation filling her voice. Her spine folded over slowly, until her elbows were tucked under her chest.

 

“ _What’s happening to me_?”

 

“I’m afraid, Guardian,” The Ghost started, floating above the Guardian’s shoulders. “That in the process of dying - and being reborn - you lose memory of your past life. It happens with every Guardian. You’re a blank slate, now.”

 

“And you’re telling me to just...to just...live with it?” She snapped, turning angrily towards the Ghost. “That’s damn cruel if you ask me.”

 

“There’s nothing else you can do, Guardian,” The Ghost replied back smoothly. “We’d best be going. This place isn’t safe. We’ll talk more once you get to safety.”

 

The Guardian opened her mouth to speak, but she realized that whatever this ‘Ghost’ was telling her was right. She could sense a foul presence in this area, as if something was _hunting_ her. The Guardian stood to her full height, and although it wasn’t impressive, the intimidation radiating off her form would be enough to cause seasoned Guardians to freeze. With poise and meaning, she marched into the camp, and without thinking, crouched down and dusted off one of the boxes. On the box, near its latches, was a piece of tape. Sprawled across it, with thick, black ink, was a name.

 

“Is this yours?” The Ghost asked, inspecting the name. “Yohura...is that your name?”

 

“I’ve got no clue,” The Guardian responded, unlocking the box and inspecting its contents. A few weapons, including a scout rifle, a hand cannon, and a small collection of knives, were still in surprisingly good condition. She grabbed them quickly and equipped them by habit, slipping the knives into various pockets on her black pants, combat boots, and military jacket and slinging the rifle cross her back. She cocked the hand cannon and scanned the landscape before standing.

 

“Call me that if you’d like; it makes no difference to me.”

 

She began to move through the plain of wreckage. The remnants of some long-lost society covered the steppe, creating a strange undergrowth of rust, metal, and…

 

“Bodies,” The Ghost started. “These bodies... I had to search for you within all this, Yohura.”

  
The small machine turned to face their Guardian. Determination radiated off their shell.

 

“Let’s hope it’s not for nothing. Follow me.”

 

The Ghost took the lead now, guiding the Guardian through the wreckage. They stuck close, as if they were afraid, as if they were using Yohura for cover. Softly, with a kind, yet firm, voice, the Ghost laid a path between the roadblocks and Fallen machinery, directing Yohura to a far off safety. In the wasteland, it was quiet. Deathly quiet.

 

“Where are you even taking me?” Yohura asked somewhat viciously, a harsh tone seeping from her inflection.

 

“There’s a refugee camp within this vicinity, about 20 miles west. I’m taking you there. From there, we’ll head to the Last City,” The Ghost explained, keeping their glowing eye on the landscape ahead.

 

Yohura said nothing, still attempting to process her thoughts. _Refugees...the Last City...what did it all mean?_ She would have to wait to find out, and she hated waiting. Step-by-step, she carved a way through the rusting vehicles, the broken roads, and the overgrowth of new life. Melting snow was deposited on the roofs of the cars, in small patches on the ground. Perhaps it was the turn of winter, or possibly late spring. Yohura couldn’t tell.

 

“So,” Yohura started with an icy tongue, “Where are we?”

 

“We like to call this ‘the Permafrost.’ It’s approximately seventeen miles away from the Steppes, Old Russia.”

  


With brow furrowed, Yohura moved forward, carefully following her Ghost. Every question asked just prompted more confusion. _What the hell was I doing in Russia? What’s the Steppes?_ Of course, asking more and more about these things out get her nowhere; they were unimportant in the situation at hand.

 

“At this rate,” She started, grunting slightly as she slid over the hood of a car. “How long will it take to reach the refugees?”

 

Without missing a beat, the Ghost replied.

 

“Our time now is 06:34. The ETA for the refugee camp is around 13:27, although expected delays are not factored into that. That’s a 6 hour, 53 minute travel time”

 

“Delays?” Yohura parroted, one of her sharp brows raised.

 

“That is correct,” The Ghost explained. Their voice was warm, comforting to a point, yet their words were robotic and sterile. “We’re currently on Fallen territory. Chances are, we’ll have a few run-ins with them.”

 

 _Fallen_...The word seemed to utterly familiar, yet Yohura couldn’t tell why. Some form of...nostalgia....came with it. Minor melodies of the word echoed through her mind, as it if it were trying to evoke a bittersweet memory that was no longer there. Yohura frowned, her eyes clouded with confusion.

 

“Are you alright?” The Ghost piped up, having turned to read the Guardian’s expression. “If you’d like, we can take a rest here. I can wake you if-”

 

With suddenly-cleared eyes, Yohura shot her Ghost a deadly determined gaze, and cut them off immediately.

 

“The Eliksni. That’s what they’re called, aren’t they? The Fallen?”

 

The Ghost spoke quietly, bobbing in their shell and moving closer to Yohura.

 

“Y-yes, that’s correct. How did you…?”

 

All that was given in response was a shaken head and a shifting, forlorn gaze. Yohura’s grip around her pistol tightened, and her free hand curled into a fist. _I don’t_ _know_ , was the first thing Yohura thought. She didn’t want to admit that.

 

“It doesn’t matter. We should get moving, anyway,” Yohura replied sharply, once more proceeding onwards. The Ghost gave a concerned hum, but did not question Yohura further.

 

The crisp day shifted into the mid-morning, and Yohura was still among a mass of cars. Her small, dark shape stood out against melting snow and rust as she moved along, slipping between corroded metal and broken shapes. Her Ghost had convinced her to allow them to fashion a helmet for her. It was black and sleek, matching the rest of her outfit (which the Ghost had made some modifications to was well). They had lost travel time, but now Yohura had some protection, at least, from whatever sought her.

“Ghost,” Yohura said quietly, as if she was trying to keep her cover. “Where exactly are we going after we get to the camp? You said something about...a city…”

 

“Yes, the Last City,” The Ghost started, their shell bobbing slightly as they led the way. “The final real refuge humanity has. The Traveler resides there, protecting as many as it can. It went quiet after the Collapse, but it’s still all we have left. The Speaker can fill you in on the rest, I’m sure.”

 

Yohura said nothing, still contemplating what all of this meant. It was too much for her.

 

“And you don’t have to call me ‘Ghost,’” The little machine piped in. “That’s what I am, but it’s not my name.”

 

Still, Yohura said nothing, just blindly focusing on the ground ahead of her, the sensory details around her. The air, still cold. The snow and dead grass and metal and glass crunched beneath her boots. In her hands was a gun. A gun made of cold metal, as black as death. It was all very definitive, yet, she felt _surreal_ , like a fever-dream was bleeding into reality itself. It took her a moment to process what her Ghost had said.

 

“You’ll...have to wait on that one…”

 

“Take your time.”

 

Yohura clambered up atop the roof of a rusting car, to truly get a feel for her surroundings. The entire landscape was dead. Brown lifelessness poked out from holes in the receding snow and ice. Static, caused by the wind, was deafening. Although her Ghost warned her of the dangers of the Fallen, not another soul moved across the horizon. The Ghost hummed in confusion, but they observed as well.

 

It had been hours since Yohura had set out. She felt like it had been days. She was surprised by her endurance, her lack of hunger, as she proceeded. The gun in her hand felt like a heavy weight, its darkness creeping up into her wrist, aching to be used. Still, she silently moved throughout the landscape, her Ghost just trailing behind her.

 

“We’re almost here,” The floating shell chimed in. “I’m surprised the Fallen didn’t find us.”

 

Yohura shrugged. She knew not of the nature of the...Fallen. Just their name. _Eliksni_...The word still rang out in the corners of her mind, like a siren. Without paying much attention, Yohura kept her eyes on her boots, crunching in the snow. The voice of her Ghost drew her eyes up. They were directing her a large, metal barrier. Vines crept up wherever they can, and ice stuck to whatever surfaces it could.

 

“Yohura, this way.”

 

After giving a quick survey of her surroundings, Yohura followed the instruction of her Ghost. Through ripped-open segment of the metal barrier she squeezed, forcing her body into an increasing tight and dark space. Her Ghost, however, provided a light. After the claustrophobic corridor, Yohura was spat out into a more open section of the barrier, deep within the interior. A bright stream of sunlight dribbled through an opening overhead.Without thinking much about it, Yohura leapt into the air and was able to, seemingly, hop off an invisible platform at the peek of her jump. A gloved hand just barely grasped the shredded-open metal, and the Hunter squeezed herself through, onto a rocky ledge on the other side. When she was fully emerged from the barrier, she could see a small village a short distance away.

 

“They’re holding a ship for us. Let’s get going.”

 

The Awoken and her companion moved quickly through brush. Yohura found it odd that life thrived on this side of the wall, while it was only desolation and snow on the other. It was only a short jog before Yohura and the Ghost arrived in the refugee camp. The camp was a few strange huts, tarp-tents, and shacks. Some crates containing supplies were strewn around the camp, open for all. Paths made by wear and tear joined in a center of the camp, where a large fire pit was. Upon her arrival, Yohura was greeted by a large man, almost a foot and a half taller than her, who gave a firm handshake.

 

“Welcome,” he greeted kindly, “It’s not very often we see Guardians around here. I know you’re new and all, but I give my sincerest thanks for your work.”

 

“Yes, of course. Thank you for allowing my passage to the Last City,” Yohura spoke, her voice cool. The man gave Yohura a subtle gaze before showing her to her ride. She boarded the empty, departing cargo ship, thanked the man again, and settled in with her Ghost.

 

“Finally,” Yohura sighed. “I’m outta that hellhole.”


End file.
